


Give Me a Title and I Shall Rule

by Zazibine



Category: Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Found Family, Gen, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecurity, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Violence, Nothing In Life is Free, Rouxls is an emotional mess and you can't tell me otherwise, Rules, Sacrifice, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-09-13 11:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16891692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zazibine/pseuds/Zazibine
Summary: He is ten, all beanpole legs and too-long arms and bleeding papercut as he looks down at the cards in his hand. Around him his friends nod, eyes dazed as they all agree that yes, it's totally fine if he plays his three of clubs on their eight of spades. It's in the Rules.He's older now (he had lost track of the years somewhere along the line) and watching as his king dangles Lancer over the edge. There's a silver blade in his hand, shining steel calling him to choose.Alternatively, for a guy named Rouxls Kaard, he's always been a bit of a cheater.





	1. Life Before

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post I found on tumblr about the role of a "rules card" in a kingdom based around cards. I just kinda took the idea and ran with it, haha.

    Rouxls Kaard is ten, awkward and lanky in all the wrong places, and he is losing- badly. 

"Haha, it's red now! Draw four Rouxls," one of the other children jeers at him, pointing with one nubby, goo-covered finger. The blue monster looks, brushing a curl of white hair out of his eyes to stare, miserably, at the black and red card on top of the deck before him. Draw Four, it declares proudly, as if taunting him.

"Alright, alright," Rouxls grumbles, snagging the required number and adding it to the fan of cards in his hand. A three, a five, and a pair of nines- all blue. All exactly the wrong color. Cursing his luck, he glares at the offending deck and the child who played previously. "Now what? It's not like I can play now, I still don't have any reds."

The goo-child looks shocked for a moment, glancing at the spread in Rouxls' hands before laughing again. "All that and you still can't play? Then you keep drawing I guess. Sheesh, you suck at this." A lizard girl starts snickering into her hand before patting the blue monster on the shoulder. "It's alright," she says, trying to tamp down her laughter, "we can't all be good at Uno." 

He just stares at her for a long moment, disbelief plain on his face, before growling a bit and reaching for a new card. One card turns into two and then five as Rouxls draws and draws, the surrounding children's faces slowly drawing up into matching grimaces of astonishment. Blue, yellow, yellow, green, blue... Until finally, nine cards later, he gets his red.

Placing it down on the pile with a rough smack, the blue monster looks around, pointed teeth bared as he dares the others to comment. Eventually shaking off her shock, the lizard girl places down a red seven and play resumes, albeit slowly. Several more rounds in and the goo-child is shaking his head at Rouxls, staring in awe at the twenty cards he's trying to juggle in his hands. "Uh, Rouxls? I think the goal of the game is to get rid of your cards, right? How the heck did you end up with more than you started?" 

Rouxls just buries his head in his cards, a mournful whine rising slowly as he blushes a brilliant purple. "I dunno," he mumbles out, thoroughly embarrassed by his rotten fortune. The lizard girl shrugs, before putting down another red card. "I mean, it could be worse? You should have plenty to play by now at least."

The blue monster barks a laugh at that, fingering the edge of one of his cards. "Yeah, I'd have plenty to play if blue could be played on anything other than blue, you know? But nope! Blue is for blue and red is for red, and honestly, why are we still playing this dumb game!?" At this, Rouxls throws down his cards, blue and white and black littering the ground like fallen snow. "I hate this! Why can't we play something else?"

Silence. And a sharp pain in his thumb. The blue monster stops, eyes wide as the other children begin nodding, numbly agreeing. Yes, Uno is stupid, why don't we play something else? What do you want to play Rouxls? Anything you like.

Their voices are empty, though, hollow of all emotion as they turn blankly to him in unison. He'd gotten them to agree.

He'd changed the game.

As a trickle of blue-black blood rolls down his finger, Rouxls can't shake the feeling that somehow, he'd lost anyway.

* * *

 

Rouxls Kaard is sixteen, hair a little longer, eyes a little sharper- and a lot more desperate.

"Come on, you have to let me fight! Er, fighteth. Madam." The cyclops in the enrollment office just grunts, pointing at the sign to her left. Ages Eighteen and Up it reads, all bolded red lettering and jagged serifs. 

"If you aren't eighteen, you aren't joining the army. That's final, kid. Now run home to your mother before she gets too worried." 

"But the Lightners!" Rouxls cries, stamping his foot in frustration. "The news says that everyone needeth to help, or else we'll be overrun. They'll be upon thy border on Saturn's day, right? I wisheth to fight!" 

"Kid, go home! You aren't old enough, seriously, what are you- fourteen? You should be in school! Look, I get it, you want to help but there are other ways of doing it." The cyclops' gaze softens a bit as she gazes down from her booth, voice going horribly gentle. "If I had it my way, I'd been fighting too. But I've kids at home, ones your age and no mother wants her kid to give up their childhood so easily. They need me, just as your mother probably needs you. Go start a garden or something, they always need food on the front lines. Now go home, okay?"

Rouxls gazes down at his beaten tennis shoes, mind drifting back to an empty house and a pair of grey stones stuck in the mud. Drifts back to the dusty packs of cards on the table and the last few gold coins in his pocket. His hands tighten into fists as he forces back tears, nails piercing skin to leave dripping blue-black crescent moons behind.

He lifts his head, staring at the sign like a starving man at food just barely out of reach. So close... He is so close.

(What now? There's no where else to go.)

And then he stops. The pain in his hands registers finally, a dull throbbing that jolts him out of his grief and makes him finally take notice.

The cyclops' eye is glazed over, vacant of all life, and the sign reads, in bold and jagged letters, Ages Sixteen and Up. Rouxls feels sick, but with relief or horror he doesn't know.

"Hey, kid. You here to enlist or no?" The gruff rumble of the cyclops' voice is a dull comfort as Rouxls nods, reaching into his pocket and placing a pair of gold coins on her desk. "Alright then, line forms to the left. Next!" 

As the blue monster joins the line to receive his supplies, the gold coins glint softly as they are swept into an iron strong box. The blood on them shines like dark starlight.

* * *

 

Rouxls is nineteen, a silver saber in hand and looking splendid in his blue uniform- and he's slowly realizing that war is hell.

Fighting rages around him, attacks flashing in the corners of his eyes. With every blink the scene changes, each one a snapshot that will haunt his nightmares. Here, the telling flash as a Lightner lets loose, magical fire sweeping out in a beam of burning light. There, the black-hole blur a Darkener makes as his ax swings down, sending another monster crumbling to the ground. The very air smells like ash and ozone, while the earth is an unsteady mess of dust and blood. 

Rouxls feels sick.

Suddenly, a bolt of pain lances through his chest, tearing through his uniform and sending him to his knees. Biting back a scream, the blue monster looks up, up, up, searching for the face of his attacker.

It is a dragon. Of course it is. Standing tall on two legs, scales gleaming gold in the heat of the day, he's magnificent. He's massive. The dragon's armor marks him as a monster of rank, his sword as one of power.

And Rouxls is so, so scared.

Blue-black blood oozes from the gash in his chest as blazing green eyes find his, stripping him to the bone and finding him... Wanting. The dragon turns away, off to find someone else to fight.

Rouxls trembles as white hot agony flickers across his ribs, sending him into a spiralling panic. Numbers flash across the blue monster's vision, screaming at him as he puts a hand to his chest, hoping against hope for it all to stop. He is scared. He is angry. He doesn't want to die.

With greying vision, Rouxls watches as the dragon strides away, drinking a verdant healing potion as he goes. Numbers float above his head as his health replenishes, each digit making the dragon's wounds flow away like water. And suddenly, with an intensity that surprises even him, Rouxls hates this monster. This golden dragon who struck him down and walked away, not even bothering to finish the job.

Dismissing him as just one more unlucky monster caught on the wrong end of his blade. His awful blade, gleaming wetly with red blood...

Mind foggy with pain, the blue monster lifts his hand away, stares down at it as if shocked that it is still his own. His fingers are blue-black, dark like night and liquid stars. It is a terrifying sort of beautiful. It reminds him of something, although what that memory is of, exactly, he would never share. And there, in the chaos of the battlefield, he ACTS.

Rouxls lifts his hand, lines up a finger with the numbers above the dragon's head, and in one shaky movement, draws a blackened minus sign in the air.

It hovers there for a long moment like some grotesque dead thing, before it flashes once, twice, and glows a nightmarish  _red._

And in that split second, the numbers above the dragon's head change from green to red and small wounds open up in his skin. 

On its own, a cut isn't such a terrible thing- painful perhaps, but ultimately harmless. This is not that.

One after another, gashes open up in the dragon's golden scales, tearing them open from the inside out. Hundreds appear, dripping blood in scarlet trails down his hide, uncaring of just where they rip into existence. Under eyes and over wrists, slipping between fingers and in the bends of knees. The dragon screams, long and loud. And then he falls over, dead.

Rouxls watches this, eyes wide even as his vision fails him. The pain in his chest fades to a dull, numb ache as he slumps over into the dirt, ears still ringing with that agonized scream. As a medic runs to his side, green magic gleaming around their hands, Rouxls drifts into a deep, exhausted sleep.

* * *

 

Rouxls is shaking, shaking, shaking- cold and fearful as he wakes up wrapped in bleached white sheets. He is in a hospital, although which one is a bit more unclear, and has just woken up from yet another nightmare.

The memory sends a twinge of pain running through his chest and he shoves the... (blood, so much blood, Oh God I killed someone)... Dream. He shoves the dream to the back of his mind.

The only sound in the room is the persistent beeping of the soul monitor and the snoring of the other patients. The clock on the wall blinks at him, telling the blue monster that it is far too early to be awake just yet.

And yet.

Rouxls sighs softly, slumping back against the headboard of the narrow hospital cot, fingering the bandages across his chest. 1:47 AM the numbers blink. 1:48. Then 1:49.

Time slips by quietly, each minute feeling longer than the last. The bare bulbs in the ceiling buzz slightly, protesting against the electricity running through them and keeping them lit. Rouxls waits. For what exactly, he isn't sure, but he waits nonetheless.

Time ticks on.

* * *

 

Rouxls' eyes flutter open, white lashes brushing against blue cheeks like an insect's wing. Tick. Tock. Tick.

5:23 AM.

The pain is a bit more severe now, and an unpleasant squirming runs through his stomach. Ugh, he hates this so much. Hunger sucks. (But at least he isn't dead, Rouxls carefully doesn't think.)

Stretching slightly, Rouxls sits up, brushing his hair out of his eyes with a huff and looking around. A few more monsters seemed to have shifted in their sleep, but other than that there seems to be no change.

But then, what had woken him...?

Footsteps. The clacking of heels on tile floor. A nurse? The squirming intensifies, becoming a gnawing pit of suppressed nerves. For a brief moment he wishes for his sword, before levering himself up to better see who is approaching. It doesn't take long.

It is a woman, bedecked in red and black and stretched tall like a particularly thin hourglass. The hem of her gown sweeps the floor and is decorated with white roses and miniature spades while a larger one is depicted upon her bodice. She holds a wicker basket in one hand and a wrapped bundle in the other.

She wears a crown, and in the terrible second that he sees it, Rouxls can't breathe.

It is the Queen of Spades.

With a natural grace that befits her title, she scans the room, dismissing each patient in turn. He practically see her mentally checking each one off as unimportant.

It rubs Rouxls the wrong way, for some reason, but that discomfort is soon buried under sheer panic as she turns toward him, startles, and then starts to walk over. Her stride is long and loping, full of purpose. The walk of somebody who has a job to do and plans to carry it out come hell or high water.

It does little to reassure him.

"Are you... Ruxles Kaard? The one who killed General Myrridan?" Her voice is soft, a whisper of a thing, but it rings like a bell in the silent room. Breathe. In. Out. Speak.

"I-it's Rouxls actually. Pronounced-eth like 'rules.' But yes, I am he? Er, and I supposeth it t'was my action that caused the dragon's fall although I bequest you to answer me why it matters." 

"Oh. Good, I was afraid I had the wrong room. Do you mind if I sit down? There is something we must discuss." Rouxls suppresses a nervous laugh, who was he to deny  _The Queen of Spades_ a seat? Hand trembling, he makes a sweeping gesture to show her the empty space on the cot's corner.

"If it pleaseth my lady, go right ahead."

"Thank you." What? Royalty should not be this polite, this was getting ridiculous, he thinks as the Queen settles onto the cot. "It has been a very, very long day. But I suppose that's none of your concern, is it? Sorry. Back to the topic at hand."

The Queen reaches around and places the basket before him, displaying the contents inside. "By killing General Myrridan, you ensured that our forces would win one of the most important battles of the war to date. In doing so, you have done a very brave thing. And, as the Queen, it's my job to reward people for doing brave things. So- that's why I'm here. For your actions on the battle field and in the line of duty, I reward you with a new uniform and the title of 'Duke.' From henceforth you shall be known as 'Duke Rouxls Kaard.' Impressive, no?"

The blue monster's mouth drops open into a surprised gape. Was she serious?! Turning to the basket, he begins digging through it furiously and sure enough, it's all there. One crisp blue uniform with silver buttons and trim. Two delta rune cufflinks, shining bright admist the blue of the fabric. And one... Jar of worms?

Upon seeing it the Queen blushes a furious pink, hiding her face in her hands. "Whoops. Sorry, those aren't for you. I must have put them in there and then forgotten to take them out!" The worms inside the jar wriggle as he tilts them this way and that, before raising an eye brow at her.

"Um, no offense intended-eth my lady, but why dost thou have worms? I mean, they are healthy specimens I assure you, but... Er. Why? Exactly?"

Sighing, the Queen lowers her hands, suddenly looking horribly young in a way that has Rouxls' gut plummeting. "It's alright, you may speak freely. I did just make you a noble after all," she smiles oddly at that. "The worms are for my son. He gets hungry on long nights like this." Her... Son? 

As if mentioning him was enough to wake him, a thin wail rises from the bundle and the Queen hurriedly unwraps the uppermost bandages to show the squalling infant inside. "This is Lancer. His birth hasn't been publicized yet, my husband thought it would be best if we waited for the war to end first before we announced it. And yes, worms are bit odd for him to be eating at this age, but the silly boy won't eat anything else!" Rouxls chuckles at that, gazing down at the child and smiling a bit. His face is a blue and black teardrop, round and soft-looking just like his mother's. 

"If we are speaking freely my lady, what hast caused thou to take him with thee whilst you complete thy duties? Surely they could have waited until a more favorable time of day." The Queen just shakes her head at that, shadowed eyes focused on her infant child. 

"My husband wants me to be back home by Friday, something about wanting to show me off to his newest guests. Since I have only four more days and so many more people to visit, I've had to travel at all hours just to stay on schedule. As for Lancer... Let's just say that my husband isn't the best with children." The blue monster looks at her then, cerulean eyes searching out hers. Bruised shadows hide under her eyes and she bends a bit under the weight of her crown. Her red dress is stark against the soft white of her akin.

Under the watery hospital lights she seems more ghost than woman.

"Thou must be exhausted." 

"It's not so terrible. Being out of the castle is a blessing- no strict rules, no rude courtiers. Just me and Lancer and the open road." The  tremor in her voice is poorly hidden, but Rouxls gives her that courtousy and just hums his acknowledgment. 

"I am not at all tired, my lady. Perhaps thou  would find a better use for this cot than I? It would be little trouble for me to watch thy son whilst you slept." The blue monster's soul twists as the Queen looks at him gratefully before nodding and laying down on the rough white sheets. No woman should be that grateful for such a simple kindness, he thinks.

The Queen of Spades is asleep in moments.

 

* * *

 

Rouxls is twenty, twitchy, and nervous in his crisp military uniform, hands wringing as he does his best to meet the eagle monster's eyes. They are golden, sharp, and far more piercing than cold steel. They do not blink.

"So you see, Sir Caldwell, because-ith of the nature of mine injury, it twas unwise for me to continue serving in active combat."

"And now you are out of the job," Sir Caldwell says dryly, propping his beak up on one clawed hand. The blue monster blinks a bit before nodding hesitantly.

"And now I be 'out of the job,' so to speak."

The eagle merely hums at that, staring thoughtfully at him as he had throughout the entire meeting. "I suppose you are here looking to be hired then? I have to warn you, we're very... selctive about just who we allow to serve in the halls of the royal palace. If your resume is in any way unsatisfactory, you'll be out on your ear faster than I can fly. Not that you need to worry of course, I'm sure you aren't here to waste my time, right?"

Ducking his head, Rouxls does his best to hide his shudder as Sir Caldwell smiles at him. (For a monster with a beak, he has far, far too many teeth.)

"Er, about that, sir? I was told by her majesty the Queen of Spades whilst I twas recovering that I had been given the title of 'Duke' in return for mine bravery. Surely that must count-ith for something?" 

Sir Caldwell looks shocked and saddened for a brief moment before his expression returns to that same smug smile. "Poor boy, nobody told you, did they? The Queen, peace be with her, passed away from a prolonged illness not three days ago. While you might still have the rank of Duke, with her death, your title has become meaningless." Rouxls... Stops. His thoughts freeze in their tracks as the eagle starts shuffling through the papers on his desk.

The Queen was... dead? But how? It had only been a few months since he had seen her at the hospital, and she seemed well enough then, if a bit tired. The blue monster begins absent-mindedly fiddling with his cufflinks as his mind whirls through the ramifications of her death.

"What about Lancer?"

"Hmm?" The eagle looked up from his reading to stare at Rouxls again. "What was that?"

"What happens to Lancer now? The prince? What shalt become of him now that his mother be gone. He's just a baby, certainly there must be someone taking care of him." 

The smile drops from Sir Caldwell's face. Immediately Rouxls regrets asking as the eagle monster stands up, towering over him by a good several feet. "Rouxls Kaard, what happens to the crown prince is none of your concern. He is healthy and  _alive_ and that is all you need to know. Now, if you want to keep the job that I am so generously about to offer you, then I suggest you stay  _far away_ from his wing of the royal palace. Understood?"

The blue monster's gut churns uncomfortably at the order, but he gives a shaky nod all the same. He really needs this job, after all, and Sir Caldwell is right- it's none of his concern. (Even if the whole things is a bit suspicious.)

"Understood, sir."

"Good. You start working tomorrow, then."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't guessed by now, the dead dove tag refers to the idea that Rouxls' ability is only activated by him taking damage. And if he wants to activate the skill consciously, well... You get the picture. This concept will become more prevalent in later chapters, so if that makes you uncomfortable, you might be better off stopping here


	2. Rules and Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rouxls hates his job, part one of what is sure to be a never-ending story.
> 
> Also, doors and what lays behind them.

Rouxls is twenty, has more calluses than ever before, and he really, really hates his job. When he asked for a position in the castle, he didn't think that meant scrubbing away at the walls and mopping the floor all day! And with all the snobbish courtiers delibrerately snubbing him, it was all just... Uuugggghhhh.

Yeah. His job sucks.

Sighing, the blue monster flings down his polishing cloth and stands, bones creaking from having sat down too long. The old grandfather clock he had been polishing chimes, telling him that it's nearly time for dinner. Finally.

Rolling down the sleeves of his battered military uniform and brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes, Rouxls glances around, looking for the closest door to the servants quarters. The hallway he's in seems empty for the most part, all marble tile and white-washed walls with a few doors and windows scattered around. Their knobs glint gold in the fading light, marking them as guest-rooms and other important places he really shouldn't enter. No servants quarters here. 

Which meant either a long walk back, or that he was lost again. Joy.

With a huff, Rouxls grabs his cleaning supplies and tosses them into his bucket before trying fruitlessly to straighten out the wrinkles in his dark blue jacket. (Why Sir Caldwell insisted he wear the old military uniform and not something a bit more appropriate, he'd never understand. It was far, far to hot to wear while doing manual labor and uncomfortable besides.) Then, in one long motion, he stoops, grabs the bucket, and starts walking. And walking. And walking.

More doors now, each one more elaborate than the last. Here, one with a knob that shone like a mirror, there, one with a handle shaped like a bird. Even the wall sconces have become fancier as he goes along, with the candles they hold switching from dull white to fragrent beeswax.

Rouxls throws back his head with a frustrated groan, one hand twisting in his hair. Yep, he is definitely lost. This was why he should have been given a map during orientation, but nooooo, stupid Caldwell thought it'd be better if he learned everything 'first hand.' Stupid birdbrain was probably hoping that this would happen. 

The blue monster finally gives into the aching in his legs and sits down, leaning against one cream-colored wall. His muscles twinge at the movement, causing him to wince at the pain and the injustice of it all. Between the fighting, the hurting, and the lack of a map or proper uniform, it feels like the world is out to get him. And that isn't right! He worked hard to get here, damn it, he deserves better! He does his best, he earned the rank of duke- shouldn't the world reward him for it? It isn't fair that he's stuck doing servant's work when he had defeated such an important foe... Somehow. 

Yeah. Right.

He has no clue how he did that.

The honesty rests bitterly in his stomach, a sharp twist so very different from his thoughts from before. Can he really say that he _deserves_ more in life when his "greatest accomplishment"only occurred because of sheer dumb luck and spur of the moment magic? Although he might have saved a few lives with that luck, war is a numbers game- those lives matter to him, but not to those in charge. At the end of the day, he's unimportant in the scheme of things, even if the knowledge leaves his guts squirming and makes him feel small. His actions, despite their effects, did not end the war. And while he works hard, there isn't any value to what he does, not really. Polishing because he's told to is an empty task and it's not exactly something to be proud of. 

He does his best to put the thought out of his mind.

Tilting his head back against the wallpaper with a muffled thump, Rouxls sighs and takes the opportunity to look around. The last of the "sun" is sinking below the horizon, casting everything in shadow and a brilliant red-gold glow. The light catches on the polished marble floors and on the edges of vases and tables, refracting to fill the hall with color. One by one, the candles in the sconces catch aflame in a puff of well-timed fire magic, adding to the effect. Delicate filagree on the doors and walls gleams with captured light, showing off their elegant curves and whorls. The artists who sculpted them must have spent hours on each piece.

And yet, the hall is empty. No one but he, Rouxls Kaard, is here to enjoy the show. However, he thinks, the art itself should still have meaning, despite the lack of admirers. Maybe the sculptures and artistry had become insignificant when compared to the palace as a whole, but the time and effort put into each  piece still mattered. (Art should not be governed by the rules of war, he thinks.)

As Rouxls sits there, mouth agape at the splendor, a thought begins to form in the back of his head.

Someone should care for the art, for the pieces that nobody bothered to look after. Should pay attention to the details, no matter how overlooked. And perhaps Rouxls isn't important, not really, not in a way that truly matters. But if no one else cared, then who else is left but him?

Yes, Rouxls thinks. That's the job for me.

 

* * *

 

Of course, the pretty scenery doesn't fix the fact that he's  _lost._ As beautiful as it is, the hallway is still unfamiliar, and as Rouxls' stomach growls hungrily, he comes to the sinking realization that he has missed dinner.

God damn it.

With one last regretful look out the window, the blue monster picks up his bucket and stands up, preparing to go back the way he came. Surely the door to the servants quarters had to be somewhere, right?

It's the sound that stops him, a long, drawn out wail like that of a some monster crying. The noise echoes down the hall, seemingly emitting from behind one of the closed doors. 

The doors with their shining brass handles and costly paint jobs that just scream "do not enter." And yet...  Rouxls' grasp on the bucket handle tightens and his black eyes begin to dart between the way he had come and the direction of the crying. Back, forth, back, forth. Finally, with a shuddering breath, he comes to a decision. 

Spinning on his heel, the blue monster books it down the hallway. Call him a softie, but he could never resist the crying of somebody in need.

* * *

 

Life just loves to mess with him, doesn't it? The blue monster grimaces at the very fancy, very expensive white and gold door in front of him. The door which the noise is- much to his annoyance- very definitely coming from. Curse his blasted luck, he thinks, before reaching for the bejewelled knob.

The door opens silently, a sure sign of oiled hinges and a lot of traffic- but it is the room inside that has Rouxls gasping in awe.

It is a bedroom, small and square, but opulent all the same. Elegent rugs cover bare marble tile, their golden embroidery just barely visible between the numerous toys scattered across the floor. Hanging tapestries bring life to the walls and in between are a series of shining candelabras, all of them unlit. A sword hangs on the far wall, its handle just right the right size for a child's hand. 

However, it is the bed that dwarfs it all. Standing tall on a raised dais, with sweeping pillars supporting the rich blue and black canopy, it's clearly a bed fit for a noble- perhaps even the king himself! Rouxls' stomach plummets and he feels his soul freeze at the sight. He  _really_ shouldn't be here.

But... The crying. That long desperate wail has risen again and what is being said has finally become clear.

"Mama!" Prince Lancer (for who else would it be?) cries. "Mama!"

 He isn't a parent- never thought of having kids, really (a bit too young for that). But Rouxls cares, for all that he likes to pretend that he doesn't. And knowing what he does about the boy's mother, well.

He can't bear to stay away.

Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. He moves.

Twisting and turning, making use of his battle training, Rouxls bobs and weaves through the mine field of toys with nary a sound. In fact, his tread is nearly silent upon the plush rugs as he makes his way over to Lancer's bed. It is not without fear that he ACTS, for caring though he may be he is still a coward at heart, but there is no hesitation as he draws the curtain aside and Looks.

**Prince Lancer**

**ATK- 5      DEF- 3**

**-A little boy in need of a hug.**

The check is accurate, he supposes, but it doesn't do the scene justice. Lancer is trembling, scared and caught in the throes of a nightmare. Fat tears roll down his cheeks as he tosses and turns in his sleep, tangling himself up in the sheets. Rouxls can't help  but frown at the sight, even as soul twists in sympathy. Where was his caretaker, his nursemaid? Where are they when their charge so desperately needs them? They should be here, he thinks, even as he slowly begins to peel back the blanket. 

But they are not. So he must do his best in their stead.

With shaking hands, the blue monster straightens the sheets and tucks them in as quietly as he can. His heart pounds as he brushes the tears from the boy prince's face, berating himself for his insolence even as a smile creeps across his in turn. As Lancer calms under his touch, leans into it even, Rouxls can't help but feel warm.

And it shocks him, that it pleases him so to ease the boy's pain.

It cannot last.

The door flies open with a bang and a tall, thin monster glides in with a low hiss, silhuotted against the light from the hall. Somehow, miraculously, Lancer remains asleep.

" **What the Hell do you think you're doing?!"** the monster growls and to Rouxls' growing horror, he finds that he recognizes them. It is Serapha, the gorgan-like guardian of the prince.

And he is totally screwed.

Backing away as quickly as he can manage, the blue monster starts to stammer out a response only for the gorgan to lunge at him and pin him to the wall with one clawed hand. Knocking his head sharply against the surface, Rouxls' vision begins to spin as she hisses at him once more.  **"Answer me! Who are you to even _look_ at the prince? You should rot in jail for your crime!!" **Her grip shifts and suddenly he is staring her right in her acid green eyes. A bolt of paralyzing terror shudders down his spine as she growls deep and low,  **"If I had it my way, _I would rip you limb from limb."_**

The turmoil within him is like a seething ocean, tearing at his insides as his legs turn to jello. Oh god. Oh godohgodohgodohgod. Hedoesn'twanttogotojail, whydoeslifehatehim, whatdidhedowrong, wherewassheupuntilnow?

He is terrified and horrified and somehow bitterly  _angry_ that this is happening at all. How dare this woman accuse him for providing comfort to a child who needed it? For completing a duty that she so clearly neglected to do? 

Despite the seething in his gut, despite his shame at getting caught doing something he knew he shouldn't have been doing... He can't bring himself to regret his actions.

And isn't that just the funniest of things?

Burning tears cut lines across his face as a hysterical laugh rips out of him, forcing his mouth into a bitter rictus of a grin. Blue-black blood trickles from where his head had hit the wall, smearing across the white paper and clinging to his hair.

He wishes that she'd forget this had ever happened. He wishes he could just disappear.

And then Serapha...stops. She stares at him for a long moment, and he is forced to watch as the hatred drains from her expression, only to be replaced with dull, glazed acceptance. The gorgan pulls away, movements stiff and doll-like, leaving him to catch his breath as she slithers back to watch her charge sleep. Putting a hand to his bruised throat, Rouxls pushes himself to walk out of the room even as shudders wrack his frame. Leftovers from his panic, he thinks numbly, thoughts moving like molasses through his head. 

Rouxls leaves the room in a daze, moving on auto-pilot out the door, through the gold and splendored halls that had so enchanted him before. Down the steps of the grand entrance, past the statues, the chandeliers, the painted doors. He stumbles, once, twice, limbs heavy with exhaustion, but he keeps going.

He feels like a ghost.

Eventually he makes his way to the servants quarters, stepping through the unassuming brown door and onwards to his own room.

The space inside is sparse with little furniture to speak of. The walls are grey, dull, and dingy in the light of the lone candle on the table, but Rouxls takes no notice.

Instead, he collapses upon his bed and buries his face in his pillow. Perhaps, if he is lucky, his neighbors won't hear his sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rules cards are functionally useless as they can't be used in play, but they still hold the power to dictate how the game is played. I figured that Rouxls' insecurities and abilities should have something to do with that.
> 
> Also, your emotions are my personal yo-yo now. (I hope I didn't give you whiplash.)


	3. Courts and Crosses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes and things change, as is the nature of the world- and Rouxls is finally moving up in life. He's gaining rank, new responsibilities to worry about, and a new set of rules to follow. 
> 
> Also stress. He has lot and lots of stress.

Rouxls is twenty (he thinks), far too tired for a Thursday, and Stressed™. Also, his job sucks. Also, can all whiny nobles just keel over and die please? Anything to get away from their incessant complaining.

"Careful darling, I can't have you ruining my  _lovely_ coat now can I? Did you know that I paid seventy gold pieces for the fabric alone? If anything were to happen to it, I'd be beside myself! Of course, satin is _soooo_ last year, but my coat is my baby. Really, do be careful- wash it only with cold water and if you iron it I  _will_ find a way to get you fired."

Case in point.

As the small fairy-like monster holds her cloak in his face, he takes it from her with a pained smile. The blue monster then forces himself to bow at the waist, trying to hold in his disgust. "But of course-ith, Lady Drisden. Be there anything else I can do for thee?"

Please say no, please say no, please say no...

"Actually yes! I'm simply  _dying_ for a tour of the castle grounds, I've heard they remodeled the royal gardens and I just  _have_ to see it! Is it true that they had to replant the roses because the first ones weren't red like the King had asked for?"

Damn it.

The fairy monster puts one hand on her hip and bobs in the air for a moment, eye brow raised expectantly as Rouxls struggles to stay polite. "I'm afraid I be not much of a gardener, my Lady. If thou want-ith a more accurate answer, perhaps thou should try with Ms. Rodendra? She t'was in charge of thee project." 

Lady Drisden pauses for a moment before giving him a pitying look. "You're new here, aren't you?" Rouxls just blinks at her, taken aback by the sudden change in topic, before scrambling to answer.

"About six? No, seven. Seven months back, my Lady, although I be-ith confused why thou shalt wish for the info." The fairy monster just sighs, shaking her head with an odd expression on her face.

"It matters little at this time," she says, before landing on his shoulder and smirking up at him. "Anyway, back to my request. I still wish to see the gardens, and as your Ms. Rodendra isn't here, the task falls to you. To the gardens, servant! Walk!"

He hates this job- the orders, the indignity.

But he has no choice.

"Of course, my lady."

Rouxls grits his teeth.

He walks.

 The gardens are spectacular, a fitting monument to the late queen- all carefully cut hedges and towering orange-leafed trees, casting dark shadows across the many pathes. Twilight filters through the branches, dappling silvery spots over the pair.

"Is it everything thy hoped, mine lady?"

The fairy-like monster looks around for a minute at large rose bushes and the fading light before nodding and turning back to him.

"We are alone. That is good, for we need to have a bit of a talk, you and I."

The blue monster tries to hide his flinch amd keep his hands steady. What had he done now? "Er. Pardon-ith, my lady? Would-ith you be so kind as to explain thy meaningst?"

Lady Drisden just rolls her eyes at that, frowning, "I knew you were dense but not this dense. I'm amazed you've survived so long in court, given your manners- and drop that ridiculous accent!" She gives him a bitter smile, flapping her wings until she's hovering just above a marble bench underneath one of the trees. "We're alone here. You can relax."

Rouxls blinks, lost in the face of the odd change in the fairy, bur moves to join her all the same.

"Dost mine accent really sound so horrible?" he questions hesitantly,  before closing his mouth with a snap upon catching sight of her disapproving glare. Point taken.

She sighs then sits down, ankles crossed and toes pointed. Her expression is apologetic as she looks up at him, eyes far too sad for a woman of her age. "Did you know that I, too, was not originally of noble birth? My father was a powerful force in the Seelie court and I was his... Less than legitimate daughter. As you can imagine, this caused no end of trouble for the two of us." 

The blue monster nods, clueless about what else to do. What is going on?

"The other fae hated me, and every one of them was just waiting to see me fall- but I would not give them the pleasure. And with time, I proved them all to be liars, shedding the names they called me like water. Country bumpkin? I took dance lessons until I was as graceful as a swan. Stupid? I learned to speak as they did."

Lady Drisden looks him in the eye, her mouth tucked into a remarkably prim sneer. "Not one of them? Ha. You can see how well I fit in among their numbers."

Oh.

Rouxls looks at her then, all seven inches of her, and can't help but be amazed at her strength. "It must have been hard, my lady." 

She turns, staring silently out into the shadowed distance for a bit, before nodding. "... It was. I hate the masks and the duplicity. You can't say no to anyone, not even if you're tired or hurting or grieving. Even in his deathbed, my father wouldn't let me shed a single tear."

"And I must do the same? Wear the masks and pretend to be happy?"

"Yes." 

She makes no apology for condemning him, but he forgives her anyway. As darkness closes around them and the white roses blossom under the moon's light, he holds her as she cries.

* * *

 The hurried clicking of talons on tile is all that alerts Rouxls as Sir Caldwell barrels around the corner, expression thunderous. Stuffing his cloth back into the bucket with a wet plop, the blue monster springs to attention just as the monster stops right in front of him. 

"Servant. I have been greatly inconvenienced today, so if you want to keep your job, listen well."

Shit. "Yes sir, what-ith might I do for thee?" The blue monster bows, arms poised elegantly behind his back- a clever trick to hide his shaking hands, for all that his fear is almost eclipsed by his annoyance. 

"This afternoon, his Royal Majesty of the Most Noble House of Spades had to wait fifteen minutes for his attendant to come aid him. That was an unacceptable amount of time," the eagle monster rolls his eyes, "apparently."

Rouxls rises just the slightest bit, eyeing his superior's ruffled feathers and disorderly appearance. Okay, tough luck on the personal aid but what did that have to do with him?

"As such, his Majesty saw fit to exile his attendant and told me to find him a better one immediately." His heart freezes in his chest as Sir Caldwell gives him a toothy grin. "So congradulations, servant, you have been promoted!"

Ex-exile?! Panic churns through his stomach, and the blue monster can barely croak out an insincere thank you before the eagle monster is gesturing for him to follow. Rouxls begins to fiddle with his cufflinks, doing his best to hide his nerves as he walks. He wanted recognition but not like this! What the hell was he going to do now?

The pair travel down elegant corridors and through several carefully concealed passages, eventually stopping in front of a pair of ornate gold and white doors covered in sculpted cheribum. 

"This is where I leave you," the eagle says, giving him a placid, somewhat smarmy smile. "Do try not to irritate His Majesty too badly, I hate having to clean up the mess he makes whenever someone doesn't meet his standards. Good luck!" 

With a swift motion, Sir Caldwell swings the door open and shoves Rouxls through, before slamming it shut behind him. 

* * *

It is not the man he sees first, or the blue fire in the grate, or even the ornate furniture- it is the books. Shelves and shelves of books line the walls, each one more worn and well-loved than the last.

They make the dichotomy between the man in the faded arm chair and the cozy scene around him all the more striking. 

 The King, for it could never be anyone else, is large- grand even, in the way of old gothic cathedrals, so big that you feel insignificant in comparison. His flesh is white, soft and vaguely moist-looking in the dull blue glow, and he is dressed in fine clothes of the smoothest black and blue silks. There is no crown upon his head, for he doesn't need one- his mere presence is enough.

He is terrifying.

Even sitting the King towers over Rouxls, his eyes cast so deeply in shadow as to be nearly invisible. A large gash runs through his outfit, a hole left open to make room for an even greater maw- a mouth, positioned right over his stomach, large enough to swallow the blue monster whole. 

The teeth are as large as his head, and at the sight he can't help but let out a small whimper of sheer terror.

"You the newbie?" The voice is a deep, guttural growl, one that nearly has the blue monster hyperventilating. He sqeaks out a feeble yes.

"Good. I was getting tired of waiting. I want a book," the monstrous figure points towards a thin red volume on a nearby table. "Get it for me."

On shaking legs, Rouxls walks over and grabs it, before handing it the King. His skin has the same texture as a mushroom.

"You may go." He does, trying his best not to simply sprint for the door.

As soon as the blue monster steps out into the window-filled hall, he collapses into tears and leans up against the door, heedless of Sir Caldwell's surprised expression.

The eagle just gives him a careful once over before nodding, seemingly satisfied. "He seems to like you- didn't lay a finger on you from what I can tell."

"Shut up. Just. Please shut up."

By some miracle, or perhaps a lone act of kindness, he does.

* * *

Rouxls is (about) twenty-two, so much stronger than before, and so, so tired of being scared and lost and alone. Like right now, in fact.

The King had sent him down into the cellars for wine- but not just any wine,  _nooo,_ it had to be the oldest bottle he could find. Which meant travelling as deep down into the cellars as he could go, and then a little deeper yet. Into a place so old that there were no maps of its winding passageways, nor torches for when it got too dark to see. A place of mouldering stone and rotting wood and the smell of ancient things.

A place that is far, far too easy to get lost in, especially for one such as he.

How long had he wandered here in the gloom? Hours? Mere minutes? As the blue monster raises his lantern and watches the light play off the rough stone walls, he can't help but feel like an intruder here. This is not where he belongs, but it is the silence that gets to him most.

No place should be this quiet.

His footsteps echo down the wide stone tunnel, and as Rouxls catches sight of the metal gate in the distance, he calls out.  "Is-ith anyone there? I happenest to be lost and am in dire need of thine aide. Hello? Hello?" A few seconds pass, and then a minute of walking and still the gate never seems to get  closer. Just how long is this corridor?

Annoyed, the blue monster begins yelling in earnest. "Hello! I am down here and am in need of aid! Anyone? Please, I be the personal attendante of His Majesty the King of Spades and I demande aid!" Nothing.

"Come on, there hast to be someone. Please..."

A soft laugh pierces through the dark, sending a shiver down Rouxls' spine.

"Eheheehee! Wish granted, little card. Now whooo are yooouuu?" The voice is grating, high pitched like the buzz of titanus in your ear. It immediately sets the blue monster on edge. "It's been ages since I've had a visitor!"

"Perhaps it be for a reason-ith most excellente," he mutters under his breath, clutching the lantern a bit tighter and turning around. Where was the voice coming from?

"Oh, have manners finally fallen out of fashion? How wonderful!" The voice is growing ever closer now, resounding from every stone and crevice until it's source is lost and Rouxls is feeling dizzy. "I'm Jevil- wanna play?"

The walls are... Bending. Twisting in on themselves in a way that stone _should no do._ The blue monster takes a step back, then another, and then suddenly his back is banging up against iron bars and the cold is seeping through his uniform. Was the tunnel always this bright?

"Or better yet..." Suddenly there's a face peering out through the gate, black and white and gray stretched into some strange parody of a grin. "Let's make a deal!"

And then things are back to normal. He is Rouxls Kaard, he is standing in a tunnel, and  in front of him is one of the old prison cells. The prisoner inside the exiled court jester, Jevil.

He is lost and alone, and while this part of the tunnel is bright enough to see by, the rest of the passage is shrouded in darkness. He knows, with absolute certainty, that he can't go back the way he came. 

Rouxls is not holding a lantern, nor has he ever held one. He is not scared.

So he does the only thing he can think of- he accepts.


End file.
